Power
by octavia1rat
Summary: To truly achieve, one must have talent, drive, and the means to seek power. To fail is to die insignificant. Harry Potter has talent. Harry Potter has the drive of an abused child. The means to seek power hurtle towards him through the void. A gift from a galaxy far, far away...
1. Chapter 1

Power

A Harry Potter fanfiction.

The depths of space. Beautiful, quiet, peaceful. For those sentient beings that would try to travel through it, great technological strides must be made over tens of thousands of years of intelligent civilisation. Spaceships would need to be able to travel at speeds beyond mortal comprehension. They would need screens of energy, to protect the vessel from damage that would usually be sustained when traveling at such ludicrous velocity. And computers so incredible, so intelligent as to map out a moving, living galaxy in binary code and plot a collision-less course through it in only a couple of minutes. Such ingenuity gives those capable of grasping it's significance hope for the future of civilisation.

Civilisation, however, is not only made up of those who wish to study the way the universe works to better the lives of their people. It is also made up of those ignorant enough to think it a good idea to use such magnificent technology to blow the fuck out of each-other.

And, unfortunately, it is with that element of 'intelligent' life that our story begins.

In the orbit of what is really quite an insignificant planet (both strategically and materialistically) two nameless forces wage a nameless war over ideals that very few of the combatants have the capacity to comprehend.

Missiles streak through the vacuum of space, great blasts of energy travel from one ship to the next, and a great many people are slain in gruesome, violent ways. The lucky ones die instantly in a quick flash of light, while the rest are sucked cruelly into space, silently screaming into the void as they are slowly turned inside out.

Vessels of all sizes fill the battleground in a close, crowded, disorganised mess. All around, one man fighters and bombers wiz about, blasting each other with bolts of red, blue and green energy. Frigates containing hundreds of people do their best to protect the larger ships with their many turrets. And great Cruisers carrying thousands of personnel attempt to manoeuvre through the mess the conflict has resolved into.

It is on one such Cruiser we find a great catalyst for change. Not a change that will matter to any of the combatants, or the people commanding them, or even to the ideals they fight for. It won't make a difference to any living being for many millions of years.

The Cruiser has taken heavy damage. There are several large holes on the hull, through which great plumes of flame rise as oxygen, debris, flammable materials and people are sucked into space. Atop a great steel pillar there used to sit the bridge, a command centre for the ship, but now there sits only warped, twisted metal. Two of the ship's six giant rear thrusters have exploded causing great damage to the immediate surrounding area, but more importantly compromising the ships skeletal structure.

The great panels holding the Cruiser together whine and groan with the effort of staying in place against the force of the vacuum, and the many thousands of occupants know they don't have long to live. Some turn their weapons on themselves, to save them the agony of the void. Some weep. Some stare out into space, despondent. Some have become so heartless they can't bring themselves to care.

One of the many doomed souls is running aimlessly in absolute panic. She, however, is different to the rest of them in that she in neither a soldier, a crew member or a civilian.

She is Jedi.

The guardians of peace and justice throughout the galaxy; Jedi are trained in diplomacy, mediation, ethics and war. What sets them apart from regular law enforcement is their control over what they call 'the Force'.

The Force, as they understand it, is an energy field undetectable through science that binds matter together, and which ebbs and flows throughout existence like a vast ocean of cosmic power. Through an unknown mutation, some individuals are born with the power to manipulate this energy. They can use it to do a great many things: manipulate matter, see glimpses of the past, present and future, gain control over the minds of others.

Jedi knowledge is passed down through the generations via two methods. The first is from a Master to an Apprentice, through years of study and practice. The second, is via a Jedi holocron: a small pyramid shaped object containing the experience, knowledge, and sage advice of a long-deceased Jedi Master.

This young Jedi in particular, the apprentice to a respected, wise, cunning and now late Jedi Knight, happens to have one such holocron on her person as she sprints through the corridors of the ship. The Force screams at her in warning, adding to her panic. She's aware of the danger. She knows she's going to die. But she's not in a fit state of mind to do anything rather than try to run away.

She's only fourteen standard years old after all. Some would argue too young to be gaining experience in war. Others would say that ability matter rather than age, and she is indeed a very gifted apprentice.

Fat lot of good it's doing her now.

With a massive grating noise, like nails on a blackboard, the entire ship trembles as if suffering from an earthquake, and suddenly she's flying down the corridor at impossible speed. On a reflex, she grabs at an open doorframe and miraculously get a firm grip. With a great heave, she pulls herself inside even as other crew members fly past, their screams of terror lost to her over the feeling of their agonising deaths projected in the Force. With a thought and a wave of her hand, she locks the door.

The room she's found herself in would be quite beautiful under any other circumstance. A large expanse, with metal walkways and flashing computer terminals are forgotten in lue of the technological masterpiece in the centre.

The ships Hyperdrive: a great sphere of metal, with visible streams of glowing blue liquid flowing through its veins in complex, mystical patterns.

At the moment however, it was cracked in several places, spitting the blue liquid, and hissing vaporised water and coolant. The corpse of the head engineer lay at its feet, mostly disintegrated by the volatile fluid covering his head and torso, his last used tool still clutched proudly in his gloved hand. The room was flashing red, and an alarm was blaring.

The girl took all this in, and gave her mind over to despair. She sat down in the corner of the colossal space, pulled her knees up to her chest and thought of nothing as the reality of what was happening came crashing down around her. She would never see her friends at the temple again, never become a Jedi Knight, never fulfil any of her dreams. The boy she'd had been sweet on (despite attachment being forbidden for a Jedi) back at the temple would never hold her again. She would never do as she had once dreamed and seek out her birth parents, meet them, make them proud of the person she had become. She would only be nothing, one of countless whispers in the force.

And she wept.

And then, suddenly, she became nothing. The explosion, being as close to the volatile hyperdrive as she was, ripped her limb from limb. Limbs to dust. Dust to atoms. Very little could hope to survive being that close to an exploding hyperdrive of that size.

Almost nothing, in fact.

Interestingly, Jedi holocrons are made of a material that can absorb a very large amount of energy. They need to be, to contain what is essentially the soul of a very powerful, experienced Jedi Master. It would take throwing it into a super nova to destroy one.

So, as it is, the holocron the (now dead) child had with her simply hurtled off into space, in a seemingly random direction, at close to light speed. It had so much kinetic energy, that it was able to leave the orbit of the elliptical galaxy which had been it's home of its existence thus far.

And it kept going.

The last of those who survived the chaotic battle died of old age.

It continued on.

The girl's sweetheart died an old man, having lived well as a Jedi Master on the council, but never truly moving past the death of the girl he had once loved.

Still, the holocron travelled.

The war long since ended, the ideals fought for forgotten. The people who died, forgotten. The Jedi order, forgotten. The great civilisation that spanned a galaxy tragically killed itself with its own stupidity.

And what should never be forgotten was lost.

A long time ago

In a galaxy far, far away…


	2. Chapter 2

_To Disclaim:_

 _I do not own any rights to the 'Star Wars' world and characters, nor to those of 'Harry Potter'. I write this work of fiction purely for my own personal satisfaction, and thus make no money from it._

 _AN: Hello! Please let me know what you think._

 _Here we go…_

Power

Chapter Two

In a colossal spiralling galaxy, containing one hundred million stars, there sat a lovely little blue and green planet. This planet, like so many others throughout space and time, happened to have just the right conditions to house a flourishing, varied ecosystem and, eventually, intelligent humanoid life.

There was, however, something special about this planet in particular.

There was, you see, a great deal more life on this planet than you tend to find on most planets able to host it. On this tiny speck in the spiral, it was so concentrated, so varied, so emotional, that it drew the currents of the Force to it like a great magnet, even further enriching the life forms it had living upon its bosom.

This, _irregularity,_ increased the rate at which sentient life forms were born with the mutation which allowed them to manipulate the Force.

It even allowed the evolution of entire species that were born able to do so.

A very rare thing indeed.

This planet would go on to be the centre (and home planet) of one of the greatest civilisations in all of time and space: conquering physics, spanning multiple galaxies and species, giving its citizens a happiness that would last countless Millennia.

It had been one thousand, nine hundred and ninety four years and 6 months since the birth of a particularly famous human, a point in time that many others of the same species measured the date against, allowing them to keep track of their lives day to day.

To be more precise, the date was (as measured with the Roman calendar) 14/6/1994.

One young human, the main character of this story, was sat quite comfortably in the higher branches of an old oak tree. He had one leg dangling from the branch upon which he perched, and he rested his chin upon his other knee, facing away from the outskirts of the housing estate where he livid, and overlooking the yet to be developed land beyond.

Beneath him was a small park with a football field, rusty decrepit goalposts at either end, as well as some swings and roundabouts in a similar state of disrepair. Usually home to rough, yob-ish gangs of youths, rather than playful children.

Stretching out beyond his tree (and it was indeed _his_ tree, where he would often come to escape his cousin's gang) there were beautiful rolling hills and meadows for about a mile, and then a tall pine forest that went on, seemingly without end. At the tops of the trees, the last vestiges of the sun could be seen as it set, casting a deep orange glow over the green hills, and darker forest. It was a singularly scenic, and peaceful corner of the world at that moment.

This suited the boy of thirteen years just perfectly, for Harry Potter was brooding.

He was, you see, the brooding sort of lad. He had not had a particularly fantastic childhood, a fact he was reminded of frequently while perched in his tree as the wind blew into the gaping arm-hole of his oversized, ratty t-shirt and made him shiver against the cold.

At least he couldn't smell the Dudley-ness of the blasted thing while the air was so fresh.

He had lived for the past twelve years of his young life with his Aunt and Uncle, who deeply despised him, and whom he in turn despised deeply. They barely tolerated each other, in fact. During his formative years, he lived in the cupboard under the stairs, he was insulted on a regular basis, his guardians beat him for every minor infringement on their rules, he ate barely enough to survive, and he never had anything of his own that hadn't first been his cousin, Dudley's (except of course essential toiletries). He never had friends.

His unfortunate childhood encouraged him to put maximum effort into all physical work, but be academically lazy (so as not to 'show up' Dudley in school). To be submissive to whatever authority wants. To go with the flow. When faced with dangerous situation, like being chased by his cousin's gang, to act upon his first instinct, usually quite rashly.

His teachers at school would call him gifted, but bone idle. And they would be right.

His friends would say he took stupid risks, and they would be right as well.

At the current moment, however, he wasn't brooding about his childhood. He was brooding over a missed chance to escape it.

A missed chance named Sirius Arcturus Black. To the rest of the world, insane. Murderer. Betrayer.

Not so. Innocent. Charming. Family.

When Sirius had offered him a place to live, just a week ago, it was a dream come true. He would finally find that basic happiness he saw in others his age, that he himself lacked. Perhaps happiness was the wrong word.

Content? Yes, that was it. Other children were content. He would have been content as well. He would have been loved! He would have had a real home! But, it was not to be.

Instead he was miserable again, his base state of being, the way he always used to be. Before he learned that there was anything else. Before magic. And he would likely remain miserable for the summer, until he could escape his prison to the sanctuary of his friend, Ronald Weasley, who's family were taking him to the Quidditch World Cup Final, which was being hosted in England this year. Even thinking of the trip made a shiver of excitement run down his spine, and a pit of yearning formed in his stomach. A need to be with his friends, and to be in the magical world where he belonged. Where he was wanted. Where he wasn't worthless.

Harry pulled his wand from the waistband of his massive jeans, as he had found himself doing all too often during the summer. His wand was his link to the magical world, to his friends, to freedom. He treasured his possessions from the magical world more than ever during the summer, when he could not even use them.

It was a lucky thing he had remembered to hide his wand on his person when he got off the train. The rest of his school stuff, bar Hedwig, was locked away in the cupboard under the stairs, where it would stay until the Weasley's could come and get him.

Harry sighed.

' _Yep, Vernon's a bastard'_ Harry thought to himself.

It was at that moment that a sudden light in the darkness caught his eye.

The sun had long since set, not that Harry had truly noticed in his musings, and the stars were out.

Well, sort of.

There was an awful lot of light pollution in Surrey, and the night sky here was so very boring. If you peer at it closely enough you might spot a handful of stars. Nothing worth looking at.

At Hogwarts, there was no light pollution. Not really. And the sky there was spectacular, an infinite canvas of light, swirling stars and galaxies caught in a freeze frame.

Not so much in Surrey.

But even still, this flash caught his eye. A shooting star. There just long enough for you to realise it was there, then just as suddenly, it was gone. Less than a second.

Harry dismissed it. He didn't believe in wishing on shooting stars. Come to think of it, he didn't really believe in a whole lot of anything.

Ah well.

He supposed he should be getting back anyway. Vernon would be pissed he'd been out so late, but there was no helping that now. Best just get on with it. He swung himself off his branch, dropped ten feet and landed smoothly on the grass below.

Harry took one last look across the hills towards the forest, and at the sky above. Or what he could see of it, anyway. It was very quiet and slightly chilly, but he reckoned it was still quite pretty, even being as dark as it was. It was peaceful, anyway. Which was more than he could say for No. 4 Privet Drive. Harry enjoyed the quiet. Probably because quite meant the absence of Dursley's.

With that last thought, Harry turned to go to the house.

And that's when the forest exploded.


End file.
